


Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-16
Updated: 2011-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because you’re mine, I walk the line.”  Or: It’s 1956.  Eames is a rebel.  Arthur’s just a high school kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you

**Author's Note:**

> Title and Summary by Johnny Cash.

((___________))

Eames is leaning against his 1953 red Chevy when Arthur finds him. He’s parked along the dirt road near a line of trees, away from the main path. Arthur refuses to consider why this may be. He can hear In the Still of the Night playing on the radio as he approaches. The song is still rather new and Arthur’s grown to appreciate it. In the distance Mal is dancing around in her mini skirt and jumping on Dom’s back, laughing loudly. Arthur wills himself to look away.

Eames gazes up at him through a veil of lashes and takes a long drag of his cigarette. He’s wearing the same black leather jacket he always wears but tonight his hair is greased back and he’s wearing jeans without rips in them, probably so he doesn’t bruise his knees later. Arthur forces the unbidden image out of his head, wincing at the way it makes his heart lurch in his chest.

“You just can’t stay away, can you?” Eames mouth quirks up in a casual grin, but his eyes reveal something entirely different.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Eames’ eyes just soften more and it makes Arthur suddenly want to cut him. “I don’t even like you.”

He watches some of the light in Eames’ eyes dim for a second. When he blinks it’s like it never happened. Eames exhales a ring of smoke in the space between them and says, “Be easier if that were true, yeah?” His tone is a bit mean and Arthur knows he deserves it.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Arthur says honestly, voice wavering.

((____________))

Ever since he met Eames he’s barely slept, his stomach is in knots, and he dreams of fiery car wrecks. His parents hate his new friends, especially when they pull up in front of his house during dinnertime in Eames’ car, honking the horn loudly while Mal serenades Arthur to come out and play. He told his parents he met them when he and Ariadne went to open house day at Penn State. In actuality, it was in the smoke ridden pub they snuck into. A pretty brunette sang French on the tiny stage at the back of the bar while two men whooped and hollered from their seats. One of them wore a leather jacket and red shirt. A cigarette hung from his lips casually and he pushed his hair off his forehead constantly as if it was a foreign feeling. Arthur stared at him, unable to stop, until the guy’s friend nudged him and nodded in Arthur’s direction. Arthur jerked and stumbled back against the bar, suddenly fearing a rumble in his direction. Before long, Arthur learned the guy’s name was Eames and that fighting with Arthur was the furthest thing from his mind.

Eames smirked that Arthur looked like a little lost puppy and bought them drinks, winking conspiratorially and promising not to ‘blow their cover.’ Arthur may or may not have been trying to wrap himself around Eames’ accent. By the end of the evening Eames had him pressed up against the dumpster behind the pub and licked painstakingly slow into his mouth; his stumble scratched roughly against Arthur’s cheek with each press of hips. Ariadne found them there while Arthur’s hands were still hanging limply at his sides, too overwhelmed to raise them.

Arthur blushed while he and Ariadne grabbed the bus back home. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” was all she said.

((____________))

Eames offers Arthur a drag of his cigarette. He takes it and their fingers touch, skin against leather gloves.

“My parents don’t like me hanging out with you,” Arthur says, not willing to let go of the mood.

They’re standing closer now; Eames still slouched against his driver’s side door, the convertible roof closed. Eames loves this car. He came over from England when he was 15 years old and fell in with the wrong crowd who taught him not only how to drive but how to hot wire cars. This particular car Eames lifted from a junk lot after it was totaled and, with Dom’s help, completely rebuilt it. Arthur kicks at the dirt between their feet and if he moves his foot forward and over he could knock against Eames’ ankle.

“You’re 18 now, Arthur” says Eames, taking the cigarette back.

“Their house, their rules,” Arthur quotes. “Until college, anyway.”

Eames shakes his head and stubs out the cigarette bud with his foot. “You’re not going to university, baby. You’re gonna graduate and then we’ll leave this town behind us, you and me.”

Arthur looks up at him, surprised to find Eames’ gaze serious for once.

Arthur exhales on a stuttered breath and says, “That isn’t happening.”

“Try me,” Eames says, voice hard.

Arthur’s parents expect him to go to Penn State and eventually become a lawyer, following in the long line of the Cohen family tradition. Whenever Arthur looks at Eames, his law career falls that much further away.

Arthur shakes his head and scratches at the back of his neck. “Who’s it tonight?”

Eames stares at him, eyes narrowed but he drops the subject, shrugging, “Just some townie. No worries, mate.”

Arthur sniffs. “How was it… the other night?”

Eames pulls out a wade of cash from his jeans and grins. Then he pockets it and holds out his arms, spinning around in the space between them, before settling back against the car. “Not a scratch, as usual.”

“One of these days you’re not gonna know the outcome,” he says, biting his lip.

Something flashes in Eames’ eyes that Arthur can’t read. “Envisioning me burnt to a crisp down some canyon, are you?”

Arthur’s feels his eyes flare with anger and he kicks some gravel in Eames’ direction. “Fuck you,” he spits and turns on his heel. Eames wheels him around instantly, his gloved palms like an electric current seizing Arthur’s body. Eames tugs until Arthur’s leaning up against him, shouldered his weight. “I wish you would,” he says lowly, their faces inches apart. Arthur meets his eyes; the intense want he finds is like a blow to the chest.

“Eames,” he chokes out on gasp, their lips brushing softly until Eames growls, “god, Arthur,” fisting his fingers in Arthur’s hair and dragging their mouths together hard and rough.

Eames’ hands trail down his flank, .curving over his ass, and fitting their bodies tightly together. Their tongues brush together and Eames licks behind Arthur’s teeth and deep into his mouth, coaxing out a moan. Arthur’s gotten better with using his hands and right now they’re palming over Eames’ scalp, sliding down his neck and coming to rest on his forearms, fingers flexing against the leather clad muscle.

Eames breaks away, panting wetly against Arthur’s jaw, “Wish I could suck you right here.”

Arthur gasps at the words. Eames presses closer against him, their hips slotting together, Eames leg wedged between Arthur’s thighs as the car wields most of their weight. “Still thinking about the sounds you made, last time.”

“Eames,” Arthur gasps, rocking against his erection, letting his own ride against Eames’ thigh.

“Eames, darling, your presence is required!” Mal’s voice rings out through the darkness from far down the road. “It’s showtime, darling!”

Eames takes Arthur’s lips once more, licks between his lips slowly like he has all the time in the world. Then he’s sighing heavily, their foreheads pressed together, his fingers flexing against Arthur’s hips. “Sorry.”

Arthur nods, not trusting his voice.

Eames rubs a finger against Arthur’s lips. “I’m staying at Mal’s… come after?’

After. Right. Arthur straightens and steps back, fixing his jacket and adjusting his jeans. “Okay. Um. My bike’s.. over there..” Arthur points vaguely behind him.

Eames grabs hold of his fingers, rubbing at the back of Arthur’s hand with leather padded fingertips. His grip is loose and Arthur backs away from it easily, reality setting in. He feels his stomach drop and he turns away.

“Will you watch?”

Arthur keeps walking, doesn’t stop.

“Arthur? Will you?” Eames’ voice is just this side of desperate and Arthur stalls.

He takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder, finding Eames’ gaze. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Eames flinches slightly. The unspoken ‘don’t make me watch you die’ hangs heavily in the space between them. Eames nods.

“Be over there after I get my bike,” Arthur says and starts walking away again.

He gets four steps. “I love you, yeah?”

Arthur’s body stills and he lets out an audible gasp; he wishes hearing those three words didn’t just mean everything to him. He turns again and meets Eames’ eyes, sees the honesty radiating.

“Then stop,” Arthur says, knowing the risk; the selfishness in his demand. He holds his breath and waits.

[end]


End file.
